


All Wrong

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Run-ins [2]
Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Wheels on the Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wasn't expecting trouble. He'd been expecting to go home, do homework, finish translating a Latin text, and go to bed. Instead, a couple of assholes decided to kidnap his bus and put them through some kind of perverted video game.</p><p>Winchester luck was a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> "Wheels on the Bus" rewrite, with Sam Winchester as one of the students. Because I apparently can't stop one-shots from developing into verses.
> 
> S8 CM, pre-series SPN I messed with the CM timeline to be 5 years since S6 instead of 2 so this story could happen.

_This is all wrong._

Sam should have sat at the front of the bus. He should have been in the aisle. He should have been armed, but no, he'd left his .308 at the apartment because the school had metal detectors. All Sam had was a pocketknife with a three-inch blade.

He'd reacted to the first gunshot instinctively, shoving the girl beside him down into the space between the seats and covering her with his own body. He'd seen the kids across from him hunker down, too, and he'd bet most of the bus was doing the same.

He still didn't know what had happened. Someone had said something about a car in the road, and they'd come to a stop, but Sam had shrugged it off and continued with his Latin text - not one of the school's, one of Bobby's, something his dad needed translated ASAP - and he hadn't seen the cause.

"What's happening?" the girl beneath him whimpered.

"I don't know," Sam whispered back. "Just stay down."

He saw a man come by in a gas mask - _no, teenager, too small for a man_ \- with a weapon in his hand. Sam almost made a move for it, and then he remembered hearing two sets of boots come up the stairs, there were two unknowns in play and a bus full of teenage hostages - how many? Twenty, thirty? Too many to risk, anyway - he couldn't make a move, not yet. He was missing too much information.

The masked boy sat in the seat behind him and nodded once, deliberately. Sam heard a voice at the front of the bus, but couldn't make out the words.

When they'd begun moving, the boy stood and grabbed a kid's backpack, upending it all over the floor. "Phones," he demanded, holding the bag out.

Sam took the one the girl below him offered with shaky hands and put it in. The boy didn't pause to register that he'd put in one phone for two people - definitely a teenager, banking on the first gunshot to have scared everyone into compliance - and continued up the bus, making the same demand. When they'd gathered all the phones, the boy sat at the back again.

_This is all wrong._

Minutes later, they stopped. Guns drawn, the two masked people shepherded them all off the bus and got them into a line. The backpack was dropped unceremoniously. One of the boys produced a bag from somewhere; the other kept his gun trained. Sam could see his shoulder twitching minutely, small enough that if he wasn't looking for a crack in the armor he would have missed it. He put that into the back of his mind to mull over. Maybe he could find a way to use it against him.

The girl next to him, the one he'd covered with his body, slipped her hand into his. Sam squeezed it, hoping to communicate that it was okay, he'd protect her as best he could, they'd be all right.

This was not the first time Sam had been abducted. The first time Dean had been with him, but Dean was back at the apartment. There would be no help from him - not that a concussed Dean had been much help then, anyway. He was going to have to keep himself calm and see if he could exploit the weaknesses, and maybe years fighting things bigger than he was had screwed up his sense of self-preservation, but the guns didn't scare him too badly. Not when he'd sewn up gunshot wounds on his brother and father and had them sewn up on him, too, when a witch or demon decided to throw a curveball and get with the times, or a hunter got twitchy, or a gas station was held up.

A bigger concern was the other students. They were panicking, and panicky people reacted badly. One of them was bound to do something truly stupid, and Sam would be hard-pressed to protect them then.

The boy with the bag reached him, and Sam submitted to the rope ties and the black collar meekly.

_This is all wrong._

He kept thinking as the two worked to the end of the line, not far past Sam. There was no way they'd be able to keep twenty-odd people under control in an open area, so this wasn't the final destination. They'd need another display of force, too, this long after the initial panic; Sam could see shifting shoulders in his peripheral vision, hear whispers he couldn't make out. Rebellion was brewing, and he tried to guess how they'd react - more guns? Would they actually shoot someone dead? Or would they beat somebody, or fire into the air?

Sam couldn't predict. He didn't know enough-

And then he heard the gunshot and the distinctly meaty _thud_ of a body hitting the ground, and he knew. He swallowed hard against the nausea and leaned back, ignoring the screams in favor of seeing who it was, hoping it wasn't someone he knew - the bus driver. It was the bus driver.

"Everyone on board," one of them yelled, gesticulating wildly, and there was almost a stampede as everyone but Sam fought not to be the last one outside with them.

That one of them didn't go in first told Sam they hadn't planned this well at _all._ Maybe he could get the jump on them? But no - two guns beat bound hands and a pocketknife.

They drove for barely ten minutes, and Sam used those ten minutes to whisper reassurances to the girl still beside him. When the bus finally trundled to a stop, the one at the back jumped out through the emergency door. Looking out the window, Sam saw him hauling open the doors of a ramshackle barn. The driver began to back up.

_Hiding place._

_This is all wrong._

They were shepherded off the bus once more, this time separated into two groups. Sam was in the smaller and had to bite back his demand that they keep everyone together, especially the girl he'd been sitting next to who was throwing him pleading glances as they were separated. One of them led the fifteen in the larger group off; the other got the remaining ten into the back of an SUV with dark-tinted windows and stood outside, waiting for his friend, Sam assumed.

When the other appeared, Sam's heart leapt into his throat. The boy was alone, and Sam twisted his hands in front of him and whispered a quiet prayer for their lives. The boy next to him shifted. "What are you saying?" he whispered.

"The Our Father," Sam whispered back.

"Can I join?"

Sam nodded and started over, speaking quietly in the Latin. The boy in front of them joined in - conservative Catholic, Sam guessed, drilled in the chant not for the purpose of creating holy water but for praying. He noticed two or three others bowing their heads but not saying anything, probably guessing at the meaning more than anything else. Robbed of any other course of action, prayer was all they had.

Not that Sam expected it to do anything but make him feel better. He'd never met an angel.

When the two boys got in the front seats, they pulled off their masks. Sam couldn't see anything else from his seat in the back.

They drove for another bit of time. The students around him cried quietly in fear or prayed with shaky, almost-silent voices. Sam closed his eyes and used the time to find what his dad called his 'center' - the place in him that was dark and quiet and cool, where he was nothing but _him_ and _him_ was _intelligent action._

When they stopped, it was outside a warehouse Sam had never seen before (not surprising, given his relative newness to the area). They were pushed into a single-file line, one armed boy at the front and one at the back. Considering their features as he walked, Sam figured they were siblings, one in his late teens, one in his early twenties. Young enough to be reckless and to think this was a good idea, not yet old enough to be cautious or think things through.

They filed into a cage, metal mesh with chairs and couches around the edges. Their hands were untied and they were fitted with earpieces before they were left alone.

Sam paced quietly as the others sank into the chairs, still trying to find his center, trying to figure out how he could protect them, trying to find a way out. He ran his hands over the metal, searching for weak spots and finding none.

_This is all wrong._

It took ten minutes for the questions to start, a longer reprieve than Sam had been expecting. "Mine's dead, what about yours?"

"It's quiet."

"What happened?"

"Where are we?"

"What are these things?"

Sam answered the last. "Shock collars."

He went unacknowledged. "What happened to Mrs. Roberts?"

"They probably killed her like they did Mr. Webster."

"They're gonna kill us too."

"Shawn-"

"Why do you think they took their masks off?"

"They want something from us first," Sam interrupted.

Shawn's head swiveled. "Why do you say that?"

"If they were just going to kill us, they could have done it on the bus, or by the side of the road, or at the barn, or outside, or on the way in here," Sam said, working through it as he went. "They wouldn't have fitted us with all the electronics. They would have just killed us and gotten it over with. And whatever they need us for, they want to give us directions, or they wouldn't have done the earpieces. We're not going to like it, so they gave us shock collars. This isn't - this isn't going to be a one-and-done." Sam's voice shook and he swallowed to steady it. "This is a game to them."

The earpieces buzzed to life. "Welcome to Hell, people," a voice said. "Number two and number five, step forward."

They all glanced around uneasily, eyes darting to each other's necks, trying to figure out who it was, and a knot settled in Sam's stomach when half the room was looking at him and half at a girl someone called 'Abby'.

He wanted to protect them. That didn't mean he was immune to the selfish desire to live.

"Let's go; it's time. Rules are simple: You follow our instructions, you live. You don't-"

Sam's neck came alive, buzzing with electricity, and he went to his knees with a scream. Abby did the same. The other eight in the room screamed, too, not in pain but in fear, and Sam wished he wasn't so familiar with screams as to be able to tell the difference.

_This is all wrong._

The pain stopped and Sam surged to his feet, anger coursing through his veins. "Players," said the voice in his ear, "the game will commence in three. Two. One."

Sam and Abby walked through the door, and Sam closed it behind them. He cast a fleetingly longing glance at the others - he wasn't perfect, he didn't want to _do_ this.

He and Abby walked down one hallway. Sam's footsteps were quiet, almost silent, and he watched for puddles to avoid stepping too quickly. He was too far in hunting mode to be making noise.

Abby, by contrast, was shaking and sniffling. She didn't watch where she put her feet; once, Sam put a hand out to keep her from slipping on the floor.

He didn't let go of her arm after that, turning to face her instead. "Abby," he said gently. "Abby, look, I promise. I'm going to protect you, okay? You're going to get out of this alive. I _promise_ you. Even if it kills me, you're getting out."

"Let's get the adrenaline pumping," a voice crackled in his ear.

"There's a table at the end of the hallway with a box on it," a different voice continued. "Open it."

They spotted it, white, corroded metal with a latch, and Sam reached out to open it. He wasn't going to let Abby do it, not when it could be booby-trapped.

He almost felt paranoid when he reached into the box and drew out - "Flashlights," he said, sounding relieved. "Here. You take one." For a second, in the dark, he'd through it a rifle scope. That was one particular nightmare he didn't want to have to live, a choice he didn't want to have to make.

"Look to your left."

They obeyed. Sam kept a hand on Abby's wrist as they moved forward.

_This is all wrong._

Steam sprayed down from the ceiling and he flinched back instinctively, hand going to Abby's shoulder and pushing her down.

"Let's get you out of your safety. You're going to have to follow my orders."

"It's important that you listen to each command."

Sam tamped down the panicked, hysterical voice that wanted to yell _You sound like my father!_ and listened instead.

"Sam, go right."

"Addison, go left."

"Why?" she asked.

"Just trust me," said the earpiece.

"I'm not leaving you behind," Sam told her, and went to his knees - _again_ \- when his collar went off.

"You see what you made me do?" the earpiece taunted, and Sam suddenly remembered another cage in another place and man who'd taken him to rape him saying the same thing. _You're so beautiful, you see what you made me do?_

_This is all wrong._

Sam panted for breath.

"Just go, just do what they say," Abby - Addy, he guessed, he must have heard wrong earlier - begged him.

Sam bit his lip so hard he drew blood. "Be careful."

"Yeah. You too."

He moved quickly and stealthily, ignoring the rats that crossed his path, going where he was told. _This is a game to them,_ he kept reminding himself. _Follow their rules until you have a reason to break them._

He saw a puddle of blood just ahead and went around, not reacting, which made the boy on the other end of his earpiece laugh. "Used to blood, Sam? Look where it's coming from."

Sam sucked in a breath when he saw the bus monitor - Roberts? Robbins? - sprawled against a wall.

"Key in her left pants pocket. Take it."

Sam did as he was told, shutting down the emotions and adding something else for the two to pay for when he got his hands on them.

Sam kept following directions. He unlocked the box on the table and stopped cold at the sight of the disassembled gun inside.

"Put it together," he was ordered. "The slide goes-"

"I know how to put a goddamn Glock together," Sam spat, then tensed, waiting for the shock.

"Then do it."

Sam prayed to God this wasn't going where he thought it was.

_This is all wrong._

"Good. Now get in a defensive position and wait," he was told forty seconds later, when the completed gun was in his hand.

"For?" he couldn't help asking.

"You're not stupid, Sam. You live all alone at fifteen in an apartment in the worst part of town. You move all the time. You know better than to ask that."

Sam swallowed. "How'd you know-"

"We know everything."

"Then tell me what I do when I'm not at the apartment," Sam suggested. "Tell me what I've done since I was six months old. Tell me why we move all the time, tell me what we do at night, tell me how many bodies I've dropped."

The quick intake of breath told him everything.

"Weren't expecting that, were you?" Sam continued recklessly. "Do you want to know how many? Or would you rather go on without knowing? Cause I gotta tell you, you think you're badass when you've got ten terrified teenagers trapped in a cage, but I eat things like you for break- ah!"

"Do _not_ taunt me."

The voice was cold. Angry. Sam heard it even over the buzz of the collar and his own whimpers of pain.

And then the pain abruptly stopped.

"Learned your lesson?"

"Yeah," Sam said hoarsely. "Yeah. You're a piece of shit that can't control a goddamn fifteen-year-old without zapping him to death."

_This is all wrong._

Sam writhed again when the collar went off, shocking him mercilessly, and he remembered the knife in his pocket - if he could get to it, he could get the collar off, but what about Addy? Once they knew they couldn't control him through his own collar, how badly would they hurt her?

The collar shut off, this time after a longer shock. Sam couldn't make sense of the words pouring into his ear at first, but slowly the world came back again.

"Shoot her. Shoot her!" his earpiece was screaming.

His hand curled automatically around the gun, his other hand going to the pocket with his knife.

"Addy, wait," he said hoarsely. He couldn't see her, but she had to be in the room. "Addy-"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "They'll hurt my family-"

"No they won't," Sam croaked, staggering to his feet. "Addy, Addy, think. They took ten high schoolers. They won't get away with it. They won't ever be able to get near us, any of us, again, okay? They're never going to get away." Sam finally got a hand on his knife and flicked it open as he brought it to his neck, sliding it under the collar and cutting it before the dude in his ear had a chance to see. He kept his hand near his neck and palmed the blade, prolonging the time he had left. "Addy," he said again. "Addy, Addy, think, you're too smart to fall for this."

She dropped the hand holding the gun and Sam cautiously crossed the distance between them. He brought the knife to her neck.

"What are you doing?" she screamed, hand tightening instinctually, and Sam screamed, "Fuck!" when he felt the bullet go through his foot. He brought his hand closer to his chest, ripping through the fabric around her neck.

"I was getting rid of the shock collar," Sam spat at her.

She dropped the gun, hands raising to her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry-"

"It’s okay," Sam said automatically, trying not to put any weight on his foot. "It's-"

"Can anyone hear me?" a new voice in the earpiece said. "My name is Penelope, I'm with the FBI. Can anyone hear me?"

"Oh my god, yes," Addy sobbed. "Yes, yes I can hear you-"

"Okay. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Warehouse, it looks like. It's got electric and water, so if you're running a search, filter results that have been disconnected. I think we're east of the barn where they ditched the bus - I assume you found that already? - but I'm not entirely sure. Did you find the fifteen they separated?"

"Yes, we did, and they're okay."

"Good."

"I'm going to tell you how to get the collars off-"

"They're off the two of us," Sam said. "I had a pocketknife and they didn't think to frisk us."

"Good thinking."

"Thanks."

"We have people on their way now. Is there anything we should know?"

"There are two loaded guns in the room we're in now. I'll keep them loaded in case the two come back, so make sure your people tell us who they are. The other eight students are in a cage somewhere with an electromagnetic lock - we'll work our way back to them, in case the guys get angry and try to kill everyone." He ignored Addy's squeak. "I don't know where their control room is, but it's got to be somewhere inside-"

"Are either of you hurt?"

"Not badly," Sam said.

"Not - I _shot_ you," Addy sobbed.

"You've been shot?"

"In the foot," Sam said, shooting a glare at his classmate. "It's not too bad. Couple broken bones, maybe, but it was just a through-and-through."

"Just a- have you been shot _before?_ " Addy demanded.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," Sam half-ordered. "Now come on. I promised you I would get you out alive. Let's get back to the others."

They retraced Sam's steps through the hallways. Sam had clicked the safety on Addy's gun and tucked it in the back of his pants; he kept the one he'd put together in his hand, ready to aim and fire. His other arm was around Addy's shoulders, letting her take some of his weight.

"So sorry for, you know. Shooting you," she said awkwardly a few minutes later.

"No big deal," Sam said dismissively.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Like a bitch. But it's not gonna kill me, and we have a couple of psychopaths who might. Perspective, you know."

The earpiece crackled again, and the same woman's voice came through. "Agents are entering the building."

"Good to know," Sam said back, then gripped Addy's shoulder tightly when he heard footsteps in front of them. He shoved her behind him, forgoing support to have both hands free, and took a deep breath.

_Find your center._

He took in more air, oxygen flowing into his lungs and through his body, fighting the rage trying to cloud his vision and finding that cylinder inside his sternum that was _him._

The muzzle of an AK peeked around the corner and Sam guessed where the guy's head would be. When he swung around the corner, planting his feet in a stance that was absolutely shitty in real life but apparently favored in video games, Sam was ready.

One minor adjustment, one shot fired, and he dropped, oozing blood from a hole between his eyes.

"Don't look, Addy," Sam ordered. "Close your eyes. You don't need to see this."

_This is all wrong._

"What was that?" the woman in the earpiece asked.

"One psycho down." He stepped carefully over the puddle of blood forming behind the body, the exit wound so much bigger than entry. Sam steered Addy around the worst of the gory mess and waited until they were around a corner to say, "You can look now."

She opened her eyes and ducked under his shoulder again, giving him support in more ways than one. He accepted it gratefully - his foot was throbbing, and the less weight he put on it, the better.

"Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly realizing he hadn't yet.

"I'm fine," she said, sounding exhausted.

They heard footsteps in front of them again and Sam pushed Addy behind him, readying his gun. He took a few more deep breaths, as much to quell the nausea of shock and blood loss that had been steadily rising in him as to calm himself down, and raised the gun in the proper direction.

"FBI! Do not move!" he heard someone yell just before two people in FBI vests and two people in SWAT uniforms burst in.

"Drop the weapon," said the man in front. Dark skin, dark eyes, clean-shaven, bald...a memory tickled at Sam and he let his arm drop, gun pointing at the floor.

"Hey," Addy whispered. "Is it-"

"It's okay, Addy," Sam said steadily. He flicked the safety on before he pointed the gun at the wall and ejected the clip, eyes not leaving the familiar agent's face as he did the same. "There's another one in my belt," Sam called, letting them know. "Disarming and dropping it."

The agents' eyes shifted behind the two of them; all four guns shifted aim slightly. Sam turned and fell, dragging Addy down with him and covering her body with his own, wanting her out of the line of fire if it came to that.

"Drop the weapon!" the unfamiliar agent yelled. Sam twisted his head to see the captor he hadn't killed raising a gun. One of the SWAT people fired and he fell, red blossoming over his shirt.

"Clear the building," the familiar agent ordered.

Sam realized Addy was shaking beneath him and rolled off her, flinching when his foot hit the floor too hard and putting more effort into regulating his breathing. "You okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah."

The familiar agent kneeled beside them. "You both okay?"

The man's name popped into his head, along with the memory of where they'd met before.

"I'm okay," Addy said.

"I'm fine, Agent Morgan."

Morgan did a double-take and looked closer at him. "Have we met before?"

"Five years ago. Appalachian mountain range, I think, or maybe the Rockies. Pedo grabbed me and my brother and we caged him for y'all."

"And we found you in the woods," Morgan said. "Sean?"

"Close. Sam."

"Right." Morgan's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Let's get you two out of here."

Addy got to her feet first and reached a hand down for Sam, who took it gratefully and let her pull him to his feet. He wrapped an arm back around her shoulder.

"You hurt?" Morgan asked again.

"I shot his foot," Addy admitted.

Morgan paused for a second. "...Why?"

"He had a knife at my neck!"

"I was cutting off the shock collar," Sam grumbled.

"I panicked."

Morgan pressed his earpiece into his ear and listened for a moment. "Building's clear. Your classmates are okay." He looked at Sam. "You know, we could wait here for some medics so you don't have to walk."

"I'm _fine_ ," Sam said impatiently. "Let's just get out of here."

"So you've been kidnapped before?" Addy asked a minute later.

"Yep."

"You have the worst- _Mom!_ "

He stumbled when Addy darted out from under him. Starting to pitch right, he overbalanced and fell left instead. Morgan wrapped a hand around his upper arm to steady him; Sam forced his breathing to even. "C'mon, medics are this way."

Sam flinched every time he set his foot down, adrenaline finally completely gone from his system and leaving him alone to fight the pain. Morgan didn't let him go until he was close enough to sit on the back of an ambulance. Sam scanned the assembled crowd of screaming parents for Dean. He knew better than to think John would show, but maybe Dean would be around.

_This is all wrong._

"So what happened to you, hon?" a paramedic asked cheerfully.

Sam lifted his foot. "Thirty-ought-six through-and-through."

The paramedic let out a low whistle. "That'll hurt for a while."

"Yep." Sam shivered again.

"Can I get your arm?" Sam raised it obligingly and she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

Morgan glanced around. "I need to talk to my team. You be all right, kid?"

"I'm always all right," Sam said dryly, eyes still scanning the crowd.

The medic leaned into the ambulance and pulled out a shock blanket, which she wrapped around him briskly. "Any injuries but the foot?"

Sam thought a second and then shook his head. "Just the bullet hole."

The response startled a laugh out of her. "Let's take a look at what we're dealing with, then," she said. "Shoe off? Untie all the way."

Sam did as he was told, undoing the laces and tugging them loose. His thrift-store army boot, ruined now, fell to the ground.

The medic winced when she got a good look at his foot. "You got at least a couple broken bones," she informed him.

"Was there a chance I didn't?" he asked facetiously.

A smile quirked the edge of her mouth. "No. I guess not. C'mon, you're going to the hospital."

"Wait."

"What?"

"I don't see my brother anywhere," Sam said. The crowd was dispersing, students who had already given statements being led away by their parents, cops with nothing to do now that the scene was secure packing up and leaving for other calls. Two kids his age and three adults stood in a knot; a teen was giving his statement; most of the cops had vanished inside the building. SWAT loaded up into their truck and left; Sam heard the yelled jokes and laughter of the group's adrenaline comedown. The FBI team was talking to each other twenty feet away.

"How old are you?" the medic asked.

"Fifteen, why?"

"One minute." She stood and walked up to the agents, whom she interrupted too quietly for him to hear. Morgan and - Heed? Sneed? _Reid_ , that was it, his name was _Reid_ \- looked over at Sam sitting on the ambulance stoop. He suddenly had an idea of how he must look - scrawny teenager wrapped in an oversized shock blanket with one shoe on the ground - and had to fight back the snort of laughter. A particularly vicious throb in his foot put stop to the hysterics before they began. He could really do with some morphine or a shot of whiskey right about now.

He was hit with a sudden, desperate need for Dean. All his life, Sam had had Dean to count on, Dean to lean on, Dean to grab and Dean to joke with and Dean to teach him to drive and Dean and Dean and _Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean_ -

"Hey. You all right?"

Sam shook himself from his thoughts and realized he was hyperventilating. "Yeah," he choked out between gasps.

The medic hauled him into the ambulance - _damn_ she was strong, or maybe Sam was just too light - and ordered, "Breathe."

He closed his eyes and did as he was told, pushing memories of Dean away and focusing on calming down. Someone closed the back doors of the ambulance and sat on the bench opposite the woman; a moment later, the ambulance began to move, driving toward the hospital. Sam had a fleeting thought for the bill, but it wasn't like they were going to be in the state long enough to pay it.

"Better?" the woman asked.

He opened his eyes and nodded. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine. You've had a very long, very bad day." The woman smirked at him and he half-smiled back.

He turned his head to see who else was in the ambulance and blinked, confused. "Agent Morgan?"

"You're under sixteen. You needed someone to ride with you." Morgan shrugged.

Sam meant to ask him how everyone else was doing, but he opened his mouth and, "Do you know where Dean is?" came out.

Morgan shook his head. "I haven't seen him. He didn't notice when you didn't come home?"

"Guess not," Sam said gloomily. "Everyone else okay?"

"Everyone else is fine. Shaken up, but fine."

"Good," Sam mumbled, resettling the blanket around his shoulders.

"Do you have a number for Dean?" Morgan asked.

"Uh, yeah, got a pen?"

Morgan pulled one out. Sam recited the number for the apartment they were staying in - first day in a new town he committed the number to memory, just in case something happened - and Morgan scribbled it down. "I'll call when we get to the hospital," Morgan promised.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes. Minutes later, the ambulance came to a stop. Sam lurched to his feet when the doors opened, then hissed when his wound hit the floor.

The paramedic pushed him back down onto the gurney. "Relax. We got you."  
***  
Morgan left a message when he couldn't get a hold of Dean and then called Hotch, who promised someone would meet him at the hospital. When Reid got there, he started on the paperwork. Sam went into and came out of surgery. They moved to sit in Sam's room so they could get his statement when he woke up. The nurse called social services because Sam had old scars that obviously weren't of his own making covered by ones that probably were.

Morgan and Reid went back to the police station to file reports, and when they returned the next morning, Sam was gone. Nobody knew where he went. The landlord told them they'd left that morning.

Unable to do anything else, Morgan and Reid accepted defeat and went home.


End file.
